PSOH Band Ficlets Round II 'Incubus'
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; smuff. Mere words don't cover it; it takes action.


PSOH Band Fics Round II 'Incubus'

"I burn for you, D," Leon sighed into the shell white ear, as he nibbled along its curved edge, lipping the ruby stud that sparkled there. "I want you so… fucking…_bad_."

A sharp intake of breath was the only answer D gave – that, and the sultry trail of polished fingernails down Leon's bare, tanned back. Leon licked the mouth that curved at him, engulfing the pouting lower lip and gently suckling it. The Count inhaled again through his nose, releasing his pent breath with a sigh. His eyes closed briefly, before he opened them again and regarded Leon quizzically.

"Mmm-hmm."

"You kill me, you know," the detective murmured in an off-handed way, raising his head to glance down the revealed glory of the beguilingly gorgeous and utterly naked Count beneath him, his normally teasing tones flirtatious, and seductive as thick cream.

"Murder me, destroy me. I could die when I fuck you."

Wide mismatched eyes watched him with artless inquiry—_that_ couldn't possibly be real, Leon thought. They shimmered faintly in the darkened room, so that Leon had to dip down to clearly see the inviting depths of royal purple, the beckoning flash of unadulterated gold. He dropped a fond peck on the tip of D's pert nose, grinning.

"You're so goddamned _sexy,_ I wanna die." No; the Count had to know just exactly how attractive he was; the detective was sure of that, if nothing else.

Nobody walked around with a body like this—with eyes like _that_—and didn't understand people were fucking dying to climb into their pants. Well…his dress-thing, since it was Count D Leon was referring to, not anybody else. Always D; all Leon Orcot ever fucking thought of these days was this one single man, decked out in his Chinese finery, smirking. Only D, the supercilious, mocking face—the fascinating, wonderful face—Leon jerked off to in his morning showers.

And D's ass—his fucking touchable ass! Leon wanted it like he wanted coffee and beer and a decent salary—maybe more. Definitely more. He'd kill for it, Leon would.

Leon leaned over and thrust his tongue into D's other ear and D sucked air again, trembling, and wrapped his arms firmly around the detective's broad back. His smiling silence was its usual mystery—intriguing; beckoning Leon to fall right in and drown.

"I probably _would_ die without you," Leon purred, still seducing, "….without _this_…and this…and _this_."

The detective laid careful kisses – tiny punctuation points – on D's smooth brow and pouty scarlet-painted lips and the fragile hollow where the column of his milk-white throat met his equally pale chest. Leon was smiling casually enough when he raised his tousled head, but his blue eyes were fiery bright in the dimly lit room. His skin felt as if it was steaming and a sheen of perspiration had already started to coat his skin, solely from sheer anticipation.

Nobody had ever had the power to make Leon Orcot feel like this; no one else ever would.

"Hmm? You would, Detective? Really, now…?"

The delicate arch of the Count's dark eyebrows rose in doubtful belief; his unusual eyes widening with a shy perplexity that had to be feigned. A creeping flush betrayed the Count's honest pleasure at Leon's confession, though, and he immediately ducked his sharp chin down to his bare chest in silent embarrassment, the purple-and gold shuttered behind a thick fan of black lashes. The Count was by no means accustomed to being desired so…strongly. So much so that the fierce man sprawled all over him literally burnt with the heat of it.

"Oh, god, _yeah," _Leon affirmed, firm lips quirking wryly at his own hapless want for this odd creature beneath him, this man who was not a man at all, but entirely the stuff of dreams. "You know it, D. You fucking well know it."

"Mmm. As you say, Detective."

D chuckled softly, bemused as much by his own delight as the raw need in the detective's guttural voice. He slid his caressing hands up to Leon's neck, distracting them both, tugging his dear detective to him, and offering up red, red lips, which bloomed like a passionflower beneath his lover's greedy ones. Their mouths met and clung, hungry; lingering endlessly, for neither one could bear to break that erotic contact, that connection that mirrored their heart's desire.

They kissed till they were literally gasping for oxygen, sinking deep within each other, lost in sensation, till the world shrank to a pinpoint in space where existed only the slide of tongue on tongue, the sweet intermingling of saliva, the tang of sharp white teeth nipping blood from swollen lips.

"Ungh," D grunted finally and turned his smeared mouth away, his exhalations harsh, delineated ribcage heaving under the warmth of Leon's questing fingertips. Leon buried his face in D's scented neck and panted hard, hips humping D's thighs; a dog in heat.

A moment of sweet inertia and then the amorous detective pressed closer still, shifting to cradle himself between D's spread legs, grinding his pelvis into silken skin, rubbing his aching cock against D's stiff one, his rough caress coaxing his lover to readiness once again. Leon's fingers were tender as moonbeams, trailing spider webs of sensation down the length of the Count's narrowing torso, smoothing the hard outlines of individual ribs under skin thin as gossamer, dipping in and out of the indentation of a shallow navel.

They found the bone of hips, jutting like smooth-oiled hinges cloaked in satin, and dug in. For the moment, and for perhaps for an hour or so after, the Count would bear the marks of Leon's possessiveness. Then they'd fade away to nothing, to Leon's frustration and the Count's pleased amusement, and the detective would grope for any flimsy excuse to make them again.

The Count endured it all without a contrary murmur, his eyes fixed on the detective's blue ones, drugged into dreamy reverie by Leon's sensuous exploration. Only the very tips of D's fingernails trembled, resting lightly against the detective's broad shoulders. He tried desperately to remain still otherwise, secretly afraid of missing a caress here, a weighty thumbpress there.

"Ah!" D gasped, jerking into a shudder when those curious hands finally found the base of his own engorged penis. Leon began to feather kisses across the planes of D's blushing face, capturing the sigh of surprise, swallowing it. He plundered his lover's mouth once more, rocking his hips in an ancient rhythm that had the Count rising desperately off the mattress to meet him.

"Baby," Leon whispered as he gently bit the sharp point of D's chin, working his way down a throat as long and pure as a column of snow. "Oh, baby, baby, _please_," he crooned, and the Count had no thought of denial.

On the contrary.

"Leon, please—!"

D's fingers scrabbled across the detective's arching back, seeking purchase on tanned skin, and then fell to Leon's narrow waist, gripping it with scarlet-painted talons suddenly composed of steel. He urged the detective closer, pushing up from his bed to bind their respective flesh together, desiring only that Leon be deep within him. The unearthly eyes closed tight against the agony of wanting; his beautiful face was honed sharp by passion.

"Touch me…more."

The Count was not always sure how to ask; or in what way he could make it known to this very human male that he was…interested. More than 'interested'. Hungry.

A warm palm enclosed him, stroking, and the Count's hyperactive senses nearly deserted him, so hard did his blood throb in that place between his gaping legs. Leon probed below with utmost gentleness, fingertips damp with the slick slide of precum dribbling softly-sweetly down D's erection. On cue, as if he knew it would push his lover over the brink, the detective brought his mouth, hot and wet and open-jawed, to one of D's nipples, his nimble tongue teasing the puckered bud into excruciating hardness. He sucked, sharp and stinging.

Starving.

"More!"

D screamed it: silently, throat working as he swallowed back soundless sobs; his head thrown back against the down pillows, the whole of his charged body tensed against the anticipated invasion. When it came, with the easy thrust of one finger, then two, swirling into him, churning him up like the froth on cream, D melted back onto the bed, his red lips parted and beseeching, his odd eyes incandescent and heavy-lidded. Leon slipped home the third finger without delay, the bulge of his knuckles brushing against D's inner walls, the tips tickling across that glowing bud of nerve endings within him and sending electric pulses straight to D's thundering heart.

"Ungh! Le_on_!" D whimpered fiercely, tilting his pelvis up and raising his knees instinctively in a bid to bind the detective into intimacy—_now_; now—immediately. He clamped them down hard on Leon's undulating hips, his ass cheeks twitching beneath the possessive hand that held him enthralled. He wriggled, and curved his spine into an arch that stretched his abdomen and shallowed out his navel.

"Now!"

"Baby," Leon growled fiercely, more than eager for action. "Fuck—Oh, god—_D_!"

Leon pushed himself up, hovering over his anxious lover and settling his knees firmly into the mussed linen. Warm hands grasped the backs of D's thighs, shoving them back far enough so he could grab at elegant ankles; tugging those up and draping D's knees over the width of his perspiring shoulders, so that the Count lay sprawled and gasping at an awkward angle, thighs split as wide as he could get them and completely unguarded, ready for Leon.

Leon slid in, grunting, the puckered circlet of entry sucking him into candy-soft bliss. Bliss that contracted and roiled, squeezing him, milking him. The Count wriggled impatiently on Leon's cock, inching himself closer by millimeters, swallowing Leon's erection. He groaned in satisfaction when Leon's balls slapped his ass cheeks and then ground his throbbing pelvis closer yet, his aesthetic features set into determined lines, his faint gasps clearly inviting the detective to move, already.

And Leon did.

He uttered a wordless exclamation of gratification and forced the Count back against the heaps of pillows, bending D's knees back nearly to meet his chest. The Count locked shaking ankles behind Leon's neck and used both hands to haul the blonde head down, down, till he could taste eyelashes and nose, jawbone and lips. They kissed again and again, open-mouthed, groaning, as Leon began the slow, excruciatingly decadent strokes, his muscles cramping at the unnatural curl of his position—he could practically suck D off from here— but still—still building to a sensual crescendo that would burn the two of them into crisp little cinders. D moaned deliriously through every stroke, squeaking at times when Leon's ever-changing rhythm pushed him so deep D would've sworn he tasted that salty-sweet shaft at the back of his parched throat.

The Count met Leon with grace, pistoning lean hips to welcome Leon's broader ones, speeding up when Leon did, all the while biting his lips in a futile effort to suppress the quaver of his stoppered voice. He almost did not dare cry out, not even a moan of satisfaction or the buzzing whine of 'Leon-Leon-Leon' that built within him, for fear of what he'd say after that; how much more that might come tumbling from lips that were far more familiar with discreet and folded silence. He could not say these things he wished—would not allow all his defenses to be breached so easily; D trembled and ate away at Leon's mouth instead, his calves jerking against Leon's back, and drummed his heels in desperation at that penultimate moment,, clutching his pet detective to him with fierce, sharp claws.

Suction; oh, fucking perfect suction. Taut and then loose, tight again, and the silver sparks of pain that heightened every contraction of D's ass.

Leon murmured: something stupid about 'forever' and 'wanna fuck you till you scream' and 'why're you so goddamned sexy?' He expected no answers; got none. Only more pressure and D's eyes wild and blue-black silk tossing against the pillows.

D contented himself with mewling and keening; it was as pointless as a seatbelt on a rollercoaster but he did not dare—_did not dare._

The detective felt no pain, nor did he flinch when D's nails dug into his flesh and pierced, pinching his over-sensitized skin, drawing thin weals of blood that trickled slowly down the length of his tanned back. He was completely caught up in the movement of the moment: the intertwined and seductive motions of coming together and sliding apart; that inch or three an unbearably far distance, though the lovers stayed always, _always _connected. Close, close, close; near, near, near.

"Fuck!"

Closer; harder; nearer, deep.

The silken feel of flesh encasing Leon was entrancing; the slick ebb and flow of their laboring bodies mindlessly addictive. He couldn't inhale properly – couldn't think! - wanted only more, more, till he died of it.

As did D, his entire consciousness telescoping down to the pulsating point of contact that forged him and his dearest detective into _one_. He had no thoughts left for anything other than that: the insistence of hungry, devouring flesh, the answering urge within him, driving him mad, forcing him to impale himself on this man—this shaft of meat and blood-engorged tissue that owned him. He wrapped his smooth hairless legs firmly around Leon's shifting ribcage and grimly hung on, screwing his hips closer every time Leon withdrew, following Leon's cock to the root, unwilling to give up even a particle of the physical link between them.

That this was the second round of the evening mattered not one whit, nor did D pay heed to the fact that they would, without doubt, do this again before morning. For D, every little tenderness, every intimacy, every single embrace was a new, perhaps-not-ever-to-be-repeated instance of enchantment, one he had to revel in as much as possible, an uncharted journey into intoxicating emotion.

It might end; it might very well end tomorrow—or today, perhaps. In the Count's vast experience, things did end, always.

The Count and his human lover rocked and wriggled, bumped and ground their sweat-streaked hips, straining to meld themselves into one being, scrabbling at each other with starved hands and desperate fingers, pushing, shoving; for this act of love was oxygen, manna, nirvana – the closest thing to 'heaven' either of them would ever know. The force of it ripped the air from their lungs, so that the sounds of their passion gradually became muted; it stole the strength from their limbs, so that every frantic movement was a battle against languid, smothering pleasure.

"D!"

Leon ejaculated first, his whole body shuddering, his jaw clenched to crack teeth, nostrils flaring red and wide, driving himself that final distance to mind-numbing completion, filling the Count with freshets of hot, thick cum, till D's hole overflowed and the sticky substance frothed out, coating their pubes and trickling down the crack of D's ass.

The Count followed Leon, on the next breath, for that last and final invasion - so deep, so thrilling! - and the welcome sound of Leon's growling, groaning pleasure echoing through him ignited him, like flame to tinder. He cried out, wordless, arching his back to receive every last drop of his lover's cum, his convulsing, avid channel milking it from Leon's fading erection, and then shook uncontrollably at the crest of his own – limbs tightening as his cum shot out to dampen Leon's curling chest hairs; then flailing and falling back, gurgling nonsense in pleasure - as he, too, found release.

The spent detective collapsed atop the Count, heavy as lead and smelling sweetly of sex and sweat, and D feebly gathered him into a loose embrace, holding him through those sodden, endless moments of afterglow with a strength he hadn't realized he still had to call upon. They slept on the breath after that, briefly and hard, and when the Count came to, blinking, he found himself curled on his side in a foetal position, his spinal cord snugly tucked against Leon's warm torso, nestled like spoons together in the midst of a choppy sea of disturbed bedclothes.

"Detective," the Count whispered, shifting himself a little more firmly into the detective's embrace, content in the knowledge that his lover's limp organ still lay within him—barely. One manicured hand came to rest on the detective's fist where it cradled the damp skin of D's belly. "Leon…" he said again, testing the air currents for Leon's consciousness.

"Leon….I do love you. Remember."

"Mmmph, wha'ssup, baby?" Leon muttered, his weighty lids shut firmly against the faint glow of D's bedside lamp. He tightened his arms more securely around his prize, smacking his lips in satisfaction, and nuzzled the Count's Shop scented nape. "S'alright?"

"I'm fine, Detective," D allowed, and he couldn't keep the smile from his voice. "Just fine."

"Smells good…D," Leon mumbled, "you…so good," and then let out a great honking snore, loud enough to have the Count flinching. D frowned mightily at his ticking clock—four in the morning; nearly time for Leon to get up for work—and thought of his own plans for the day and their consequences.

"Remember that, please," he whispered, when Leon's snores had settled into a dull rumble, "if you remember nothing else, Leon. Please remember that."

His dear detective wasn't truly aware, and hadn't been, but then Count D knew that, and so was able at last to articulate those three so- important words he always assiduously avoided. It would not do for the Count to give in too easily to such flimsy notions as 'peace' or 'contentment', nor allow for the existence of 'ever afters', especially not during Shop hours.

Besides, there was no such thing.

Things ended; that was D's real business, being there to take care of the aftermath of endings. And he, of all the beings that strode this world's byways, knew this bitter fact better than most. Yet…

"I love you, Leon Orcot. I love you." Perhaps—just perhaps— it wouldn't hurt to say the words. They were only words, after all, and meant nothing.


End file.
